The Betrayal of Maggie Blair

Chapter 7

There were only twenty or thirty houses in Rothesay, clustered along the stream above the blackened, ruined walls of the castle, and there can't have been more than a hundred or so people baying like hounds around us, although it seemed like a vast multitude. The grim little tolbooth was unlocked, and we were bundled up the steep steps to the iron-bound door. I turned for a last fearful look at the faces of the people below us, grinning with hatred, before the door clanged shut. I saw Annie standing on the edge of the crowd, deep in conversation with Mr. Macbean. There was something about the way she stood so close to him—looking up into his eyes with her head to one side—that seemed odd to me. But just as my glance fell on them, he bent his head and said something with a fierce look. She stepped back, her mouth open in shocked surprise. She reached forward and caught his sleeve, but he shook her off and turned to go. I saw nothing after that because the door had slammed shut. Granny and I were alone in the cold stone room.

***

Though it was already May, it was a bitter night, with a near frost. The small barred window was set high in the wall, and the shutter was hooked back on the outside, where we couldn't reach to close it. The wind blasting through the open space set my teeth chattering. Our bellies were empty too. No food was brought to us, and without water I couldn't even stir up a cold porridge with my oatmeal.

"You're a fool," Granny said. "Why didn't you run when you saw them coming? You could have saved yourself."

"They'd have come after me. Where could I have run to?" I spoke sharply, but I don't think she heard me. She was listening to the din outside, the crowd in an ugly mood, whistling and calling, and the jailer, Master Donald Brown the locksmith, trying to keep them at bay.

"There's sixpence for you, Donnie my man," someone yelled out, "if you'll open the door and give us a peep at the witches."

"Get away to your houses and stop bothering us," Mr. Brown growled in reply. "You'll get your fill of their evil faces in the morning."

"What does he mean, in the morning? Where? What are they going to do with us?" I whispered to Granny.

"You think anyone's told me?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Listen to them, the dregs of the island. If my father could see this day..."

She turned away and began a kind of mumbling, her jaw working. She'd been doing it often recently, and I didn't like it. She looked old and a little mad, talking to herself like that.

We heard the outer door creak open, then clang shut. The bolt shot across, and there was a cough that told us that Mr. Brown had withdrawn to his little sanctum beside our cell. The noise from outside slowly died away.

"For the love of Christ, Donnie Brown," Granny suddenly called out, "will you not give us a blanket or a crust of bread and a drink of water?"

Slow footsteps approached the door.

"A blanket you want now? With a swan's-down pillow and linen sheets, I suppose? And a supper of roasted venison? My wife's cousin was on that ship that sank in the storm you magicked from the Devil. Get him to feed and warm you. You won't get anything from me."

"She never called up a storm!" I burst out, banging on the door with my fists.

Granny dragged me away.

"Save your breath. He'll not listen. He's closed his mind against us. You'll only make things worse."

"Worse? Worse? How can things be worse than this?"

"Ha! You really want to know? Just wait, miss, and you'll find out."

She had been prowling around the cell, and now she sank down into the far corner from the door.

"The draft's not so bad here. Settle down, for the Lord's sake. Let me think. There are things, maybe..."

Her head fell back against the cold damp stone wall, her eyes rolled up, and her lips began to move. I knew she was pulling from her memory spells and enchantments, blessings on us and curses on others, looking to her old knowledge to save us.

It would have been a natural thing for two people, facing a long night in a cold place, to sit close together and gain a little human comfort from each other's bodily warmth, but Granny had repelled my childish affection so often in the past that I stood hesitating. At last she snapped out, "Oh, stop dithering, Maggie, and sit here beside me. Wind your plaid around both our shoulders, and I'll lay mine across our knees. Be quiet and don't fiddle about. Go to sleep. Fetch the Lord Christ back again, why don't you? The Second Coming's about all that'll save us now."

Her sarcasm sounded like blasphemy to me, and I shivered with more than the cold.

***

I must have slept through a little of that long, weary night, in spite of the chill of the hard stone and the gale blowing through the open window—enough, anyway, to dream. Wild nightmares pursued me, and I woke several times with a start of horror, though the dreams fled before I could recall them.

Dawn came at last, and the rising sun sent a little warmth into us. It sent no breakfast, though. There had been nowhere, not even a bucket, in which to relieve ourselves, and the place stank already.

There was a strange absence of noise from outside: no cottage doors opening, no water splashing, no footsteps or greetings as people went off to work.

"What do you expect?" sniffed Granny, when I expressed surprise. "Today's the Sabbath. They'll all be getting themselves cleaned up to go to the kirk. They'll be spending the day droning out psalms and feeling pleased with themselves and having their holy ears filled with lies about us."

She had only just stopped speaking when I heard quick footsteps on the outer steps of the tolbooth, and someone rapped on the massive iron-bound door.

"Open up, man! You can't still be sleeping!"

"It sounds like Mr. Robertson," I said fearfully.

"Are they ready?" Mr. Robertson was saying. "Have they breakfasted?"

The great door swung open. We heard Donald Brown mutter something inaudible.

"Is that you, Mister Minister?" Granny called out. "We've not had so much as a crust of bread or a drink of water since you had us put away. So much for your Christian charity."

The bolts of our cell rasped back, and Mr. Robertson, as clean and pink as ever, appeared. He was frowning and seemed about to say something severe in answer to Granny's impertinence, but then his nose wrinkled at the smell and he looked with surprise at the window.

"How did you open the shutter?"

"We did not. The man never closed it," Granny informed him stiffly. "The cold wind had nothing to check it."

Mr. Robertson's long, thin frame twisted around, and he disappeared out of the cell.

"Common decency..." we heard him say. "...will not countenance undue ... some bread at least..."

We heard his quick retreat, and a few moments later Mr. Brown appeared. He planted a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water just inside the door and kicked a wooden bucket viciously toward Granny before slamming the door shut again.

I was so hungry and thirsty that I could have eaten three times the amount of bread and drunk the whole pitcher of water, but Granny made me keep some of it back.

"Wash yourself," she commanded. "No, not like that. I'll do it."

She dipped the corner of my plaid in the last of the water and scrubbed painfully at my face.

"Now do mine."

"What for?" I asked, when I'd done my best on her wrinkled red-veined cheeks. I was puzzled. She'd never made me wash before.

"They'll be taking us out today, I know it," Granny said. "We won't give them extra reasons for despising us. Here. Take off your cap."

I undid the strings that tied my little white cap under my chin and let her run her sharp nails through my hair by way of a comb, trying not to cry out as she tugged painfully at the knots.

Before I had finished tying the strings again and had the chance to do something to tame Granny's wild hair, Mr. Robertson's light footsteps were running back up the tolbooth steps.

"Bring them out, Donald. The sheriff's men will keep the crowd off them. I want them in the kirk before the people start arriving."